


A Viper's nest

by Aevan



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aevan/pseuds/Aevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval-style AU where Laura is the Princess (obviously) and Carmilla is a notorious bandit know only as 'the Viper' for her unique serpent-design sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She stalked along the treeline, just before the crest of a mound, hearing the familiar clip-clop of horses on the dirt road, the rustling of armour and, in this instance, the tedious boasts of a petulant and arrogant young nobleman.  
She stilled her breathing and listened, closing her eyes. ‘Four’ she thought, having counted the horses by their gait. From the sound they were just moving past her current position in the wood, and in a few moments would have their backs to her- ripe for an ambush. She drew an arrow from her quiver and expertly, silently notched it to the string. This was going to be good. If three armed and muscle-bound knights could be bribed to accompany this imbecile for any length of time and actually be persuaded to protect him rather than maim him, he must be obscenely rich. Wealthy and stupid; the best kind of noble.  
She smirked behind her black leather Menpō and stood, loosing an arrow into the left shoulder of the obnoxious prize before ducking behind her cover once more. She heard the nobleman give a high-pitched yell of pain before tumbling from his saddle. Really, she should have taken out the bigger threat, she knows that, but how can any self-respecting bandit be taken seriously with a pompous noble turning her heist into some sort of theatre? She had tried to aim for his heart to make the shot count and at least avoid a dramatic “agh! I bleed!” (Such young men are so accustomed to embellishing their ‘feats of gallantry’ in the telling to naïve young kitchen maids that they are more player than warrior). She found comfort in the melancholy sound of swords being drawn from their sheaths. Strange, she could’ve sworn… never mind that. Another arrow on the string. She heard one knight give the command to investigate the source of the shot, and then another slide from his saddle. His heavy steps could be heard coming her way, climbing the mound, so she stayed low and retreated into the low-hanging branches of an old conifer.  
He cautiously rounded the mound’s crest, a large iron shield held to his midriff and sword dangerously poised in his right hand. He paused for a moment, before side-stepping his way down the slope, searching. The flowing green velvet of her cloak and dark leather cuirass kept Carmilla well camouflaged amongst the dirt and foliage of her home.  
As soon as the soldier was far enough down the slope to be invisible from the road, and had his back to her, she took her chance. A well- aimed arrow struck the nape of his neck; just where the helmet and hauberk left him vulnerable. He clattered to the forest floor. She couldn’t be too pleased with herself; he was only a few meters away. The commander muttered a “stay here” and spurred his horse up the slope. He would be a more visible target, but quicker and able to scout out any lower prey. ‘Well… two can play at that game….’  
The soldier was not so foolish as to approach his fallen comrade, instead he faced where the shot must have come from and trotted, keeping to the high ground. “Coward!” he bawled. “why don’t you fight, like a man?” Before he could defend himself Carmilla had pounced; dropped onto the back of his horse from her position in the large conifer and slit his throat with her dagger, twisting his head so that his broken body slumped from his noble charger and onto the hard dirt. “Because I’m better.” She muttered under her breath.  
A sudden gasp drew her attention; stealthily climbing the slope was a young woman, obviously noble, possibly royal, dressed in flowing deep red velvet with a thin gold band circling her head. Like a halo Carmilla thought. ‘Whoa, where did that come from?’ she brought her head back to the moment and saw in her peripheral three unmounted horses. ‘Of course- four horses, two knights.’ She mentally kicked herself for her shoddy scout-manship. She broke the silence: “My, what a pretty vixen has sprung my trap.” She coolly remarked. The fearful young woman broke from her frozen state and began to run toward her horse. “I do have arrows you know” Carmilla called after her. Carmilla rolled her eyes when the woman took no notice, she slid forward into the saddle and violently urged it forward. Carmilla quickly gained ground and leapt from the horse, landing on the girl midway between the peak and the road. They tumbled together into the dust. Carmilla had grappled with the girl for control and was on top, but it was a split-second before she realised that there was a small knife against her throat. Despite this most humiliating defeat, Carmilla could admit she was impressed.  
“Who was he?” “W-what?” the girl sputtered. “The ‘mighty warrior’ over there” she gently nodded her head to gesture to the crumpled body of Lord Pompous DeWindbag, currently having his tunic torn by his horse for the sugar in his pocket. “Who was he?” there was a pause. “Why?” “Curious.”  
“Curiosity killed the cat.” “But what about vipers?” she quipped. The girl’s eyes went wide in realisation. “You’re…” “At your service, Mi’lady” Carmilla tilted her head into the blade in a mock bow, but her steeled eyes had still not left the soft brown ones of the blonde. The girl’s expression softened “he was a suitor, the son of Duke Vayne Clermont, and rather dull company until you came along.” “Not the word I’d choose Mi’lady.” Carmilla’s brows furrowed, remembering the garish monologue that had drawn her from her nap and into the hunt in the first place. “Still, it’s a shame his guards lacked your…” her eyes quickly flickered to the blade “resourcefulness. This is quite an embarrassing end for an infamous rogue, you see.” To both their surprise, the girl giggled. Carmilla then realised that with the large hood of her cloak over her head and the Menpō over her nose and chin, all that could be seen were her eyes. That coupled with the fact she’d just killed three men mere minutes ago she must have appeared quite intimidating, and was seriously impressed with this ‘fragile’ girl and her composure. The girl looked thoughtful, and suddenly raised her free hand toward the mask. “No.” Carmilla said sternly, her eyes cold where they had been playful. “I want to see your face” “then I suggest you slit my throat” she snapped, darkly. She knew this sheltered, naïve child was clearly fascinated by her, and had doubtless never killed, but she also knew tales of the notorious ‘Viper’ and could easily justify her murder- especially in light of the current circumstances. “You have a choice.” She continued. “I suggest you make it.”


	2. A Snake in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happened in my brain. Now they're on the internet.

The two just stared at each other in silence. The younger woman’s mouth had fallen slightly more open at the word ‘choice’, and the silence was filled with quiet understanding. Carmilla realised that no-one will have ever offered this young girl a choice before- she would have been told who she was and what to do; that thin band of gold on her brow containing her, like barbed wire on her brain. If the noblewoman didn’t know herself yet, the decision she now faced would teach her. Perhaps this girl, like Carmilla, had been too comfortable hiding behind her own mask. Carmilla’s expression softened, she felt… was it pity? Her hand slowly reached upwards, careful not to startle the girl (she did have a blade to her throat, after all) and slid the mask down past her jaw. If this fragile shell of a girl was the only one able to catch her off guard, she at least deserved the courage Carmilla could teach her. In her last moments, she would be herself again. 

Something hung heavily in the air between them, like the weight of a pendulum counting down the seconds until one of them would have to speak, or die.

 

The moment was shattered by the blast of a horn. The blonde’s gentle expression hardened, snapping into place as though she had been woken from a trance. An alien determination claiming her features. “Go.” She said, inching the blade back toward herself. The shock must have shown on Carmilla’s face, as she repeated the order: “Go, now.” This time Carmilla didn’t skip a beat, she rolled off the princess and up onto her feet, sprinted to the abandoned charger, leapt into the saddle and, with a last pained look at the blonde, cantered into the forest. Just as her silhouette disappeared into the treeline, the source of the noise; a party on horseback, rounded the bend and came to a sudden stop on the road where the blonde had fallen. “Your Highness!” a concerned voice exclaimed. Carmilla froze, urging her steed to do the same. ‘Your Highness?’ she was clearly the daughter of some high-ranking noble, but..?’ “Princess Laura, are you injured? What happened?” There was a gasp. “The young Lord Clermont…” the eloquent man (clearly a herald or messenger) sounded as though he was trying not to be sick in front of the princess. “We were ambushed. And I’m quite alright, thank you, Stefen. But what are you doing here?” “Your father has requested that you return- he has finished negotiations with the Duke and wishes to begin wedding preparations. However… perhaps it would be best that I escort you to His Majesty, he will be relieved to know that you are unharmed. Who attacked you?” “S…He claimed to be the Viper. The guards were killed in the attack.” The Herald (evidently named Stefen), seemingly emboldened by the knowledge that it was one thief and not a gang of outlaws, turned to his men: “find him.”

Time to go. Carmilla urged the horse forward, staying on the damp, mossy earth to disguise the sound of hooves. Within a minute she was back in her ‘nest’: a cave, the mouth of which was disguised by low-hanging boughs. There were cold ashes in the fire pit and her old armour rested on the dirt floor. A gift from her father… if he could have seen what a fool she was. The Princess. She was the Princess. To make matters worse, she got away with her purse un-plundered. Princess Laura was nothing like she had imagined, but then, what had she imagined? Perhaps if she could see her again… ‘Snap out of it’ the rogue chastised herself. Carmilla was drawn to the memory of the girl with timid eyes and a daring nature. For all the treasures she had looted on the road, the stolen encounter with Laura left her with a feeling of unquenchable avarice. She wanted more. She was about to drive the horse away when she had an idea. Not a good idea, but an idea nonetheless. 

She outfitted herself in the heavy armour, took ash from the fire and scrubbed her jaw with it to give the appearance of stubble, then donned her helmet and left the cave. When the charger reached the bodies of the dispatched guards, Carmilla took their coin purses (this was supposed to have been a robbery, after all, and it’s not like they needed them now), cleared her throat and dropped her voice an octave. “Here goes nothing” she sighed. Then louder: “Sir!”

Two soldiers rode up from her right, and the Herald appeared from in front, clean-shaven and in attractive gold and purple livery. “Where is he?” He snapped “Sir, it seems both men were attacked from behind…” “Coward.” One of the soldiers spat “… But there’s no sign of the villain responsible. He must have fled when he heard us coming.” “Damn him to Hell. The King won’t like that. Now we should return the princess to safety, or it’ll be our necks. Let the Watch keep the peace.” He returned to the road and Carmilla followed suit with the two soldiers. There was a second blast from the horn, ordering the men to regroup. Stefan dismounted gracefully and beckoned Carmilla over to him. He knelt on one knee before the Princess and offered his linked hands as a step. “Your Highness, if I may assist?” this guy was slimy. Nonetheless, Laura accepted the aid and joined a disguised Carmilla on her charger, riding side-saddle of course. “What is your name, Sir Knight?” “Arandil, son of Rykil, of House Aevan…” she checked to see that the men were distracted before dropping her voice to a whisper and its usual pitch “…Mi’Lady.” Laura let out a quiet gasp, and the party began to ride toward the castle.


End file.
